A Gypsy's Kiss
He loved her beneath the shadows
of Pichoca trees where white
palm leaves blew high into the
winds and vanilla vines swirled
and twisted into superfluous webs
of calico threads.
This is where she played on her
swing, suspended barefoot among
the grandeur of rock formations that
labyrinthed to a sheer cliff, which
descended into the still waters of
a ghostly lake.
The porous lava of her skin was
carefully woven with the sweet
milk of life given to ghosts in a
dream, where modesty rose like
silence and atoms vibrated into
solid waves of pure color.
Grays and plums drifted across the
sky when they danced among the
eucalyptus that adorned moss covered
stones where the smell of burning sap
from copal trees served as incense
abound in the humid air.
Serenades of gypsy music and gothic
melodies terraced the red caravan with
one voice under the taps of falling rain as
the lovers kissed and sang in the silver
moonlight inspired by Majorca wine and
fried fish served with burned mango.
It was the stuff of poetry!
